


Only the Game

by Xyriath



Series: FMA: Twelve Days of Smut [7]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Olympics, F/F, FMA Rarepair Week, Fingering, Mirror Sex, Porn, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7966531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosé has a tendency to stress out before volleyball matches.  It's not any better now that Amestris is up for the gold medal.  In fact, it's much worse.</p><p>Olivier has never really had time for that sort of thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Game

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Uchiha-Umeko's [Olympics AU](http://uchiha-umeko.tumblr.com/tagged/Olympics%21AU).
> 
> ...Just pretend the women's volleyball team has two uniforms and one of them is a bikini.

Rosé took deep, steadying breaths.

Her ability to find a quiet, solitary space in the midst of all the hubbub and excitement had been nothing short of miraculous, but it hadn't helped as much as she had thought it would.  True, she no longer had the screaming and cheering and chattering washing over her pounding head, but it left her alone with her thoughts.  Alone with her anticipation.  With her anxiety.

She took another breath, trying to ignore the way that her hands were shaking, her heart was fluttering.  She had done this, a thousand times before, and done well.  She had one of the most memorable spikes of all the teams out there, and she had never failed to kick ass.

But she had never been in front of an audience this large, vying for a gold medal in team beach volleyball.

She tried to impress the word _team_ into her mind, she really did.  She trusted them more than she did herself, repeated that they wouldn't let her down, that even if she messed up they would be there to cover her.  That was what all of this was about, right?  But that only led her into another spiral, this one a choking anxiety about how, if she did choke, _she_ would let her team down, would leave them hung out to dry, would ruin everything that they had worked for—

"I thought I might find you doing this."

The low female voice, normally raised in harsh orders or argument, had a softer note to it than usual, revealing the almost musical warm notes that managed to hide in plain sight until its owner decided to bestow them upon someone she liked.

Rosé looked up at Olivier Armstrong, eyes wide, swallowing hard.

"What are you talking about?" she tried to laugh, forcing a grin on her face, but Olivier simply crossed her arms, an eyebrow raised on her haughty face.

"Pacing.  Worrying.  Stressing yourself into a frenzy as you work yourself up about this.  You've trained.  You'll do as well as you can.  You always do.  That will be enough."

Rosé let her face sag a little, secretly relieved that she didn't have to keep up the cheerful facade around Olivier, who saw so much.  "But what if it isn't?  What if I—"

"If you relax, and focus, it will be," Olivier cut in, a sharp edge to the words, but held back from her normal icy tone.  Rosé smiled crookedly, knowing that anyone else would be shocked to see Olivier like this, some of the closest she got to tenderness and sentimentality.  Rosé didn't mind terribly.  She liked being the only one to see this side of Olivier.  Her _nice_ side.

"Easier said than done, huh?" Rosé joked lightly, sitting slowly on the locker room bench.  "I've been trying to do that for the past half hour, but—"

Olivier strode forward with all the grace of a fencer, the sudden movement leaving Rosé breathless as, where quite some amount of space existed between before, only inches remained now.  Rosé swallowed at the warmth Olivier radiated against her bare skin.  The public knew her as Amestris's ice queen, cold and merciless on the fencing courts, and Olivier made no efforts to dissuade that notion.  But Rosé had learned another side of her, that the ice queen didn't always radiate ice, that she could spark heat just as well as chill.

And now, standing so close to Olivier that they nearly touched, in nothing but a bikini, she began to feel that heat herself.

"I should help, then."

Olivier said the words as a matter-of-fact statement, not a question.  Not that Rosé wouldn't have had the opportunity to give a firm "no" had she wanted, but why would she want to?  Her heart jumped in her chest yet again, but this time, it was with something besides anxiety.

Olivier's strong arm darted out to circle around Rosé's waist, finally tugging them flush together, and Rosé gasped, hands reaching up instinctively to brace herself against Olivier's chest.  This, of course, offered her a nice handful of Olivier's breasts, which she shamelessly enjoyed, running her hands up to Olivier's... "shoulders," then back down again, curling her fingers around and cupping.

Olivier smirked, then she leaned in.

Rosé's eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned in, expecting a kiss, but she gasped when Olivier's teeth met the side of her neck.  Her eyes flew open again, and this time she really did grab Olivier's shoulders, bracing herself as those teeth worked slowly and purposefully down to her collarbone, intermixed with tongue and lips.  Rosé turned her head slightly to the side, both to allow better access and to nuzzle gently into Olivier's blonde hair, indulging in the familiar scent as Olivier gripped her waist harder.

Rosé managed to return a kiss on Olivier's jaw, but she soon found herself being spun, firm hands on her hips, _away_ from Olivier.  She tried to twist back, but Olivier held her in place, arms wrapping around Rosé's torso and tugging her back against her clothed chest.  As she did, Rosé caught sight of what Olivier had noticed and she had not: they now stood in front of a mirror, Olivier behind Rosé, piercing blue eyes fixed on her as she smirked.

Rosé reveled for a moment: at the sight, Olivier's pale skin contrasting with Rosé's own warm dark tones; at the press of Olivier's breasts into her back; at the calculating look that swept over Rosé's body, barely clad, promising unspeakable things.

Rosé shivered at that promise, breathing a little heavier.  She should be worried—they had a match in only an hour, needed to get warmed up, needed to—

Olivier's fingers slipped underneath the royal blue of the bikini's top, and Rosé's brain short circuited, all worry rushing out the window.

Two fingers traced up the bottom of the curve of Rosé's breast, taking their time, circling tantalizingly around the outsides without the promise of a follow-through.  Rosé bit her lip, watched the "her" in the mirror do the same thing, then the motion of Olivier's fingers drew her attention.

She watched, holding her breath, at the sight of those fingers disappearing further underneath the cup of the bikini, circling ever closer—

The hand cupped over her breast, squeezing, and Rosé gasped, jerking backwards.

Olivier only held her tighter, eyes still fixed on Rosé through the mirror as she leaned down to kiss on her neck again, licking a stripe up to her jaw and then nipping down again.  Right as Rosé fell into that distraction, Olivier's fingers pinched at a nipple.

Rosé couldn't manage to keep from crying out then, though she kept it relatively quiet; with any luck, no one would hear the two of them.  She shivered, tilting her head some more, watching her hair fall to the side and mingle with Olivier's, contrasts of pink and blonde and brown.

And then the hand around her breast moved again, stroking, tracing, gripping, and Rosé panted as she watched the movement, barely concealed by the small piece of cloth, a pathetic shield for the indications of the upcoming debauchery.

As a thrill shot from her breasts down to her abdomen, as she felt the beginnings of a trickle of wetness between her thighs, she thought a little frantically that she might need to grab a spare piece of swimsuit when this was finished.

Olivier's second hand slid around Rosé's ribs to her stomach, and Rosé made another small noise.  At this one, Olivier hummed lazily, sounding contented and a little smug as her eyes fixed on Rosé's yet again.  Something about that gaze, of possession, of controlled desire, held Rosé there, not able to look except out of the corner of her eye as Olivier's dextrous fingers ghosted across the sensitive parts of Rosé's hips, slightly up her sternum, circling around her navel before tugging gently at the waistband of the bikini.

Rosé gasped at that, finally managing to tug her eyes away as they snapped straight to Olivier's other hand, at the exposure of slightly paler skin and hints at dark hair that scattered over it.  Was she about to—

But instead of tugging it down, Olivier slid her hand inside, and somehow, the sight of her hand beneath the cloth seemed more obscene and filthy than being completely exposed in the locker room would have been.  Rosé's eyes fixed on the movement as four fingers slid down through that hair, curling lazily, pressing but not penetrating, and drawing a soft gasp from Rosé as a slow roll of pleasure course through her.

"Olivier—!" she hissed as she reached backwards blindly, fisting her hands in Olivier's coat to steady herself, feeling herself sag a little and leaning back into Olivier's embrace.  Olivier's only response was a smirk and a small "hmph," then a gentle bite on Rosé's shoulder.

She chose that moment, with Rosé distracted by her teeth, to slide a finger between Rosé's lips and towards her clit.

Rosé panted, her hips arching forward as Olivier teased at it, not permitting direct contact, sliding around it just closely enough to send deep waves of pleasure sliding through, slickness now coating both of them, but not allowing the fulfillment of—of something.  Direct contact, a finger inside her; Rosé wanted _more_ , and she gasped, squirming and arching forward, trying to get it.

While Olivier would have normally made her work for it, wait, tease for ages and then take when Rosé was too tired to give any longer, she showed mercy today: sliding her hand down further, she pressed her thumb against Rosé's clit as she slid two fingers inside her, leaving her wonderfully full.

Rosé hissed again, gasping out an, "Oh, god—!" before she closed her eyes, tilting her head back onto Olivier's shoulder and panting for a moment.

But then Olivier's hand began to move, and she had to open her eyes for that, to see the rhythm of the hand between her legs in the mirror even as she felt the fingers thrust into her, then pull out, curling, before thrusting in again.

Rosé rocked her hips forward in time to the movements, each one leaving a slow build of pleasure where it touched, an aching need for it when it withdrew.  Olivier let out a pleased chuckle and added a third, the way she always worked Rosé open.  So distracted was Rosé with the fingers exploring her demandingly, intimately, that she didn't notice Olivier's other hand until it tugged one side of Rosé's bikini up, exposing her breast.

Rosé shivered again, the cold air and the sight of Olivier's eyes taking her in leaving her nipple tightening in anticipation.  Olivier clearly didn't miss this; she pinched it between her fingers again, rolling it, thumbing at it, then squeezing her breast again as she continued to fuck Rosé with her fingers.

The waves of bliss came closer together now, heightened sensations threatening to coalesce into something bigger, and Rosé bit her lip again, willing it to hurry.  Olivier usually dragged this out; she was determined to enjoy this sudden, quick sex, rushing into the pleasure the same way Olivier had rushed into her.

The three fingers curled inside Rosé again, staying a little longer, and twisted, right as Olivier's thumb pressed against Rosé's clit, right as she pinched the nipple particularly hard—

Her orgasm hit her with an overwhelming speed, the buffet of a wind rather than a steady picking up of speed, and Rosé yelped again, thrusting down onto Olivier's fingers, the moisture leaving them sliding together with a slight sticky noise.

Olivier supported her with a hand around her torso, no longer fondling her breast, letting Rosé sag and pant and gasp and blink tiredly up at Olivier, who watched Rosé with satisfaction and even a little fondness.

As Rosé came down, Olivier tugged her hand away, still steadying her.  Rosé caught one last glimpse of herself, wobbly and tired and wrecked, half of her bikini rucked up, one breast exposed.  A total mess.

Olivier turned her back around, straightening her and helping her sit to catch her breath.  As Olivier sat next to her, Rosé leaned in, a heady contentment beginning to buzz in her head.  She'd have to change suits after all, yes, but she had to say, she felt _much_ better now.

—

Rosé's hands shook as she held out her hands, chest tight with excitement and joy.  She stood, convinced that she was going to wake, that she would snap out of this dream any minute—

The cold metal pressed into her grip, and she curled her fingers around it.  This was real.

She turned to the audience, to her team, and beamed, holding the gold medal for them all to see.


End file.
